


Conquering Hero

by Goodfellow



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, Friendship, Insecurities, Oneshot, Reader-Insert, Trauma, coarse language, depictions of torture, depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 08:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14667015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goodfellow/pseuds/Goodfellow
Summary: "Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it." - Helen KellerDeadpool/Wade Wilson x Reader





	Conquering Hero

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to write a scene like this in Aberrations, but it wouldn't work with me, so I decided to write a separate fic for it and it got a little out of hand but hey. As always, I take my inspiration more-so from the Deadpool in the comics than the movie.
> 
> Please let me know what you guys think! :) I hope you enjoy!

You could say with absolute certainty that you hadn't expected your weekend to start off this way. A sharp gasp escaped between your clenched teeth as the frightening man in the plague doctor mask drove a large nail through your left palm and into the wooden armrest of the chair you were tied to. He'd driven the first one in when you'd told him to fuck off after he'd asked for information on your best friend for what had felt like the millionth time. 

Really, you figured having a friend that moonlighted as Spiderman might present the occasional problem, but this was taking things a bit far in your opinion. 

“I'll ask again: Who is Spiderman?”

The most terrifying thing about the man in the white doctor's coat and disturbing mask was the utter calm he exuded throughout all of this. He performed these horrible acts as another might ring your groceries through- with a sort of bored professionalism.

You raised your chin in defiance and it earned you an unimpressed cluck. You tried to bite back a moan of pain as the smooth edge of a scalpel dug it's way across your clavicle. There was some sort of crudely-made shock collar attached around your neck, and it sent a nasty shock through you if you screamed too loudly. 

You'd lost count of how many hours you'd been captive in the small, chilly room, but the Good Doctor had hardly left you alone for more than an hour at a time. Exhaustion seeped out of every pore in your body, but you hadn't been allowed to sleep. Every time you nodded off a piercing alarm would split your ear drums as it bounced off the walls of the small room you were hidden away in. 

You imagined you looked quite the sight. Hands, palms up, pinned to the arms of your haunting throne by large, cruel nails. Lacerations and burns decorated your chest and arms, the skin of your left wrist flayed off in strips. Eyes bloodshot and bags so dark they matched the deep bruises on your other wrist, you shuddered out a breath. 

You weren't cut out for this. You weren't a superhero, you were just a university student that worked at the 7/11 up the road from the little place you and Peter shared. While you were prepared for the worst, part of you still held out hope that Peter would find you before it was too late. You had no intention of betraying the only person you considered family, but… You weren't cut out for this. At this point you were just praying for death. 

With a rattle and a creak, the heavy, metal door opened and in flounced sweet Death himself to deliver you. The figure was clad in red and black and had an arsenal of weapons strapped to his body. He seemed almost giddy, prancing into the chamber brightly right up until he looked up and met your gaze. The entire room seemed to darken with this stranger's mood. 

Your captor turned sharply to assess this new threat. 

“And just who are you?” The doctor hid his nervousness well but you could hear the edge in his tone.

There was a beat of silence before the man turned his gaze from you and took a deep, steadying breath. “Let's just say I'm an interested party.” He took a cautious step forward. “I heard you had a guest that might have some information on Spidey.” 

Oh God, how many people wanted Peter dead exactly? It took more energy than you cared to admit but you managed to glare up at the intruder. His intense gaze met your eyes briefly before they returned to the doctor once more.

“Ah, I take it you're interested in his identity as well?” The beak of his bird-like mask tilted in curiosity with him. “You're Deadpool aren't you?” 

“That's me.”

“I suppose you've been hired to kill that annoying spider.” The Good Doctor paused momentarily before sighing as though he was suddenly presented with a mild inconvenience. “Very well, I believe a deal can be made.” 

The doctor didn't look particularly concerned as the other man pulled out his gun, crossing his arms and studying this Deadpool as though he were the dirt under his nails.

You sighed in relief when the stranger leveled his gun at you. You gazed up at him, eyes half lidded in exhaustion, breathing heavily before you let your head fall forward so that you could feel the cold tip of the muzzle kiss your clammy forehead. 

“What did you end up learning from her?”

A frustrated grunt. “Nothing. _Yet._ However it's been but a day, I'm certain with more time I'll have no difficulty coercing those pretty, little lips of hers into telling me anything I'd like to hear.” His eyes peered at you with a vicious smile and he snipped the wicked pair of pliers in his hand as if to emphasize his point. 

The strange man hesitated, as though considering the words carefully. He took in your wilted countenance, acceptance of your sinister end radiating off of you, and the grim, determined line of your lips. It didn't matter what this crazy, old man tried, you'd do anything to keep Peter safe. 

“Sorry doc,” the stranger said as he shifted his gun to point directly at your captor, pulling the trigger without any hesitation. “You're the only one on my list today”. The body fell to the dirty floor next to you. 

It occurred to you that you should be feeling a sense of fear or perhaps even satisfaction at this unexpected turn of events, but you were simply hollow.

You regarded the prone form of your torturer, blood, brain matter, and clumps of hair spread across the cold cement of the floor and walls of the dim room with an unreadable expression on your face. You let your eyes fall back to the man clad in the bizarre uniform to find him studying you thoughtfully. 

The man walked toward you slowly, gun held casually at his side, his back stiff and shoulders tight. He bent down in front of you. Eyes darting from one point of your ruined body to another, the man opened his mouth.

“So, as far as first dates go, this sucks. But hey, on the plus side-” He stopped himself short when he met your tired gaze. He exhaled slowly. 

“Let's get you out of here, huh?” 

 

\------------------------

 

Wade’s constant chatter had been the perfect distraction for your racing mind. It turned out Peter had enlisted Deadpool’s help in finding you as he was something of a world-class tracker. The boy had been beside himself with anxiety, fear and panic clouding his mind when he’d found the merc. 

Wade learned your location relatively easily, all things considered. He was impressed you hadn't given that batshit doctor any information, but you'd sustained no small amount of damage in the process. He had personally seen you to the hospital and was sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair while a nurse looked you over.

Your nurse was a no-nonsense European woman with efficient but gentle hands. She had a stern expression on her face, but Wade didn't blame her considering how you looked. 

“You'll need to stay overnight, of course, and the police will be by to take a statement,” the woman said offhandedly as she worked on your hands. The other injuries were clean lines, but your hands had taken the most brutal treatment. There would be scars. 

Panic rose in your chest at her words. You didn't want to be trapped in a cold, lonely hospital room with tubes and wires attached to your abused body. Absolutely not. The walls started closing in around you and with a quick intake of breath, you replied in a rush.

“I- I don't want to be stuck in a small room alone. I don't-”

“Hey sweetness, no one's gonna make you do anything you don't wanna.” Wade interrupted, emphasising his point with a meaningful look at the nurse. 

You let out a deep breath and your posture relaxed slightly. Wade was proving himself to be a great source of support. 

The nurse was clearly not in agreeance.

“You don't understand.” She argued vehemently, shaking her head and scowling at the mercenary. “She's incredibly dehydrated and- _She needs to be under observation.”_

No. You started to hyperventilate and Wade stepped toward you to lay a supportive hand on your shoulder, glaring at the woman.

“The lady says she don't wanna stay,” Wade grunted out stonily, his voice hard and uncompromising, “and I'm inclined to side with her.” 

The nurse stuttered out her reply. “I- I can't allow-”

Wade cut her off. “Have you ever been locked up and tortured, pal?” He tilted his head in curiosity. “Would you like to be?”

The woman paled.

“Oh goody!” He chimed, a pleased smile noticeable from underneath his mask. “I got my way again!”

 

\------------------------

 

“Alright,” Wade started as you exited the hospital. “Let’s get you home. Peter has been going crazy with worry. He's been texting me like nonstop. It's super annoying.” 

You'd lost your own phone somewhere between getting nabbed and getting nailed to a chair, and while you appreciated Wade’s attempt to lighten things up, a new worry gnawed at you.

“I don't want to see him.” You decided dejectedly, chewing at your lip. 

“Wha- Why not?” Wade questioned sharply. He looked unhappy at your comment and you shrinked in on yourself before he cleared his throat and softened his tone. “Do you know how worried he's been?”

“He'll see me, what's happened to me, and he'll blame himself. He'll hate himself. I can't let that happen. I just… need to protect him for a little bit longer.” You admitted miserably. 

Wade huffed but shrugged his shoulders. “I gotcha. You can crash with me in the meantime. I'll go meet our man and let him know what's up.”

You sighed out a thank you.

 

\------------------------

 

Peter, sporting his web-head attire, was already waiting for Wade atop the building in which they had agreed to meet by the time the merc arrived. The younger man was pacing back and forth nervously when he spotted Wade.

“Did you find the Good Doctor?” 

“Well ‘hello’ to you, too, pumpkin.” Wade retorted with a raised eyebrow, though it was hidden under his mask.

_“Wade.”_

“I did.” Wade affirmed. “Filled his prescription myself if ya catch my meaning.”

Peter looked taken aback momentarily before his expression became disapproving. “You killed him?”

“What can I say, I didn't have any patients for him.” Wade joked, though there was an unusual seriousness about him.

“Wade, don't joke about someone’s death, that's so messed up, man.” The younger man sighed in frustration and pulled his mask off to run a hand through his hair irritatedly. “I thought you were gonna try-”

“Petey, he _deserved_ it.”

Something in the way Wade said that struck Peter, and he grew eerily still, face turning steely in the dusky light. “Where's (Your Name)?”

“Ah. Yeah, about that-”

Peter was no longer in the mood to deal with the mercenary's antics. “Something happened. _What happened._ ” It wasn't a question and Peter took a threatening step forward.

“Easy there, itsy-bitsy!” Wade threw up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “She's alright.” He winced. “Well- relatively speaking. I'm not gonna lie, Pete, it was really ugly in there.” Wade let out a mournful sigh. “This isn't gonna be an easy recovery.”

Peter looked as though he was gonna be sick; Wade had never seen such grief on the younger man’s face before.

“I need to bring her home.” Peter asserted, hands gripping his hair in distress. 

Wade shifted uncomfortably and gave him a pitying look. “She doesn't want to see you yet, Pete.”

Peter looked like he'd been struck.

“Wha- Why…” He sucked in a shaky breath. “Oh my god. It's because- this is all my fault.” Peter concluded, fingers pulling at his hair painfully.

“Man, she has you pegged, alright.” Wade slapped Peter’s hands away. “But no. What she went through was big. There are gonna be some scars, both physical and mental. I think she wants to work through some of it before she sees you.” 

Peter looked up into the merc’s face imploringly, eyes wide and lost. “How long do you think that'll take?”

“Who knows, spidey. Just give her some time.” 

 

\------------------------

 

It was your fourth night staying at Wades’ and once again you woke up in a panic, chest heaving. You could feel the press of a phantom blade slicing across your skin and the words “weak" and “disappointment" whispered viciously through your head in Peter’s voice. The idea that you'd let your closest friend down by putting him in such a precarious position with your capture had been haunting you every night since your release. You squeezed your fists closed, nails biting into your recovering palms in hopes of grounding yourself. You took a deep breath and looked around. Wade had given up his bed for you the last few nights while he took the couch, where you assumed he was now. The last thing you wanted at the moment was to be alone. 

A sliver of light filtered in from between the door and the floorboards. You gently pulled yourself from the warm and inviting bed and made your way across the room, slipping silently through the doorway. 

As you’d expected, you found Wade on the couch in the next room, his feet covered in blue bunny slippers resting on the chipped coffee table next to a box of cold pizza. Golden Girls was playing on the television softly and Wade seemed thoroughly enraptured by whatever Bea Arthur was saying, a wedge of pizza shoved in his mouth.

Something was different. Oh, he didn't have his mask on. Of course. 

You hardly gave it a thought as you made your way around the couch, though your preoccupied mind couldn't help but notice that Wade had his own scars painted across his face, disappearing into the blue bathrobe he wore over his spandex suit. 

Wade noticed you immediately as you came around, freezing suddenly, another piece of pizza halfway to his mouth. A deep frown pulled at his lips as he eyed you, and you sat yourself next to him, wedging your face into his arm. You sniffled and tried to control your breathing. The nightmares still played on the edge of your mind. 

You felt Wade’s shoulders relax just the slightest and a slow hand came to wrap around your back cautiously. 

“I'm scared.” You confessed into the side of his arm.

His shoulders crawled back up to his ears, as though they were trying to shield him.

“I've been having nightmares.” You admitted, ashamed that you were once again relying on a man that you hardly knew for comfort. “Can I sleep with you?”

When Wade finally replied his voice was tight and vulnerable. “Of course.” 

 

\------------------------

 

It was the following evening and you'd just stepped out of the bathroom, hair thrown up in a messy bun to keep it from getting wet. You had just secured the towel wrapped around you as you exited the room when Wade came through the front door with an arm full of Mexican take-out. He nearly tripped when he spotted you. Steam escaped from the open door of the bathroom behind you as you stood there surprised at the mercenary's sudden entrance.

Ever since you'd seen him without his mask, you'd been feeling a tense awkwardness from Wade, though it seemed to come and go at times. You did your best to ignore it, not knowing the cause. 

Wade openly gawked at you for a few more seconds until you cleared your throat uncomfortably. He seemed to pull himself from whatever train of thought his mind had hopped on when he’d burst through the door, adjusting his grip on the take-out.

“A-ah.” Did Wade Wilson just squeak? He straightened his back with a jolt. “Absolutely not. I hope you're hungry. I got a lot of Mexican goodness. Also, I rented a superhero movie.” Wade chattered nervously. “Chris Evans is in it. He's the handsomest of all the Chrises, you know. Although I would personally recommend a Chris sandwich with some Deadpool filling.” 

You muffled a laugh into the back of your hand. He was so weird sometimes. “I'll go throw on some PJ's and we can get to it.” 

“Uh- Yes, okay.” Wade replied uncertainly, as though he wanted to argue with you. “Sure.”

As the two of you watched Chris Evans save the life of a woman in a coffee shop from an encroaching alien army, your shoulder resting against Wade's and sleep tempting you into unconsciousness, a thought struck you.

“Oh. That's you.” You thought aloud, voice thick and eyelids heavy. “You're like my personal hero. Saving me from bad guys and bad dreams alike.” You quipped with a somewhat rueful smile. 

Wade's own eyelids were falling half-mast when they shot open at your comment, suddenly alert and confused.

You wrapped your tired arms around his and Wade felt his heart clench. A hero, huh? 

You’d fallen asleep right before the conclusion of the film, and though hours had gone by since, Wade didn't have it in him to move. You were fast asleep, head in his lap and hand clenched around the leg of his pajama bottoms. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Wade studied your profile with guarded eyes. He knew what he was feeling but...

You hadn't made any comments about his scars, and he knew you'd seen them well enough the other night. It was as if it didn't even register in your mind as something to ask about. Wade wasn't sure if he wanted to throttle you or kiss you. If he was lucky, maybe you'd be into both? In fact- 

The first chords of Disney's _You've Got a friend in Me_ softly sounded from his phone and he looked up from you, startled. That would be Peter. Again.

Wade ran a hand down his face and sighed in frustration. He gathered you into his arms and moved you to the bed. The bed the two of you had shared last night. The bed he wanted to share with you again, in both exactly the same and an entirely different manner. Fuckity fuck, indeed. You did not need this right now. 

Wade slipped out of the room like a great shadow and made a call to Peter. 

“Wade,” Peter begged. “How is she?”

It would almost be funny how desperate Peter was over your well-being if it wasn't so utterly pathetic.

“Chill out, helicopter mom. She’s making progress.”

“Going through something like that...” Peter's voice quivered as he trailed off. “Do you think she'll be okay?”

Wade thought about the kindness you showed him despite the horrors you had recently been dealt. The way that you snuggled up to a monster the other night and let him hold you when you woke up crying, the way that you flung pancake batter at him when he tried eating it raw from the bowl just to make you laugh. The way you smiled at him and sought out the touch of a man that didn't deserve the sort of redemption you offered.

You would be, Wade thought to himself, he would make sure of it. 

 

\------------------------

 

Two weeks to the day that you had been rescued, Wade had put his foot down. 

“You need to talk to him. You're tearing the both of you apart.” 

“What if he hates me, Wade?” You squeezed your eyes shut and reached for his hand. Physical contact had been a huge help in your recovery and you were grateful Wade indulged you, unaware that most days he needed the contact just as badly as you did. “What if he thinks I'm just a liability?” 

The idea that you'd disappointed Peter, that he would no longer greet you with his goofy grin or spew ridiculous pop culture references at you made your heart ache. You couldn't go through this world with the knowledge that you'd let down the only person you considered family.

Wade drew small circles on your skin with his thumb. “Then I'll kick his fine ass from here to the moon.”

It was said with such severity that it managed to startle a laugh out of you. You took a steadying breath. 

“Can you ask him if he's free to meet up tomorrow?” You hadn't yet replaced your phone, so you were once more forced to rely on Wade to assist you, and the idea left you feeling anxious and guilt-ridden all over again.

“You got it, sweetheart.”

“Will you stay with me when he comes by?” You questioned meekly.

Wade’s hand tightened around your own and he answered you softly. 

“Fuck yeah.” 

 

\------------------------

 

Wade had invited Peter over to his apartment for four o’clock the following day, offering to make himself scarce while the two of you chatted. He wasn't sure if he was grateful you'd insisted he stay or not.

Peter knocked on the door five minutes early, though Wade had heard him pacing out front and muttering to himself for ten minutes beforehand. You had been too distracted by your own thoughts to notice but you watched the door now with a wary gaze. Wade opened it with a dramatic sigh and moved back for Peter to enter. 

“Peter.” You sobbed once, making your way over to him and throwing your arms over his shoulders as he reciprocated the gesture. There were tears in his own eyes as well. 

“Oh God, (Your Name). I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.” Peter crushed you against him, his form trembling against yours. “Please- _I'm so sorry._ I love you so much.” He repeated the words over and over, a mantra against your hair.

Wade was right. He didn't hate you. Your shoulders sagged in desperate relief at Peter's words and you shook your head vehemently. 

“It wasn't you. It's not your fault, Pete.” 

“I'll get stronger. I'll protect you, I swear- Please don't leave me. Please don't leave me alone, (Your Name).” 

Sobs wracked both your bodies as you clutched at one another. 

“Never.”

Wade was right. This was exactly what you'd needed. 

 

\------------------------

 

It had been a couple months since you'd found yourself back in the small apartment you shared with Peter, and you were doing rather well with dealing with your trauma. You'd realized pretty quickly that you had some issues with anxiety and panic attacks that you certainly hadn't had before your ordeal, but both Peter and Wade had been exceptionally supportive, offering themselves as pillars of strength as you overcame your struggles.

In fact, Wade had visited the two of you nearly every day since you'd returned home. You got the impression that the merc was a little lonely, though he never said as much to you two, so you and Peter had made a habit of inviting Wade over for lunch or dinner, and even to spend the night every so often. While you'd initially offered him the couch, Wade had started sneaking into your bed during the night, much to the chagrin of Peter, who had recently taken up the role of “overprotective brother” within your strange, little friendship. Eventually you'd just stopped offering the couch, content to snuggle up to the merc throughout the night. 

Today, however, Wade had shown up unexpectedly (relatively speaking, that is. It was hard to ever really _expect_ Wade). So, when you heard a knock on your third floor window only to find him standing on the fire escape outside, a fistful of daisies that frankly looked like they'd seen better days, you were, simply put, surprised. 

You opened the window, careful not to hit the merc, and greeted him, both mystified and amused. 

“Hello, Wade.”

A black tie was knotted around his neck and it stood out in hilarious contrast against his spandex suit. 

“C’mon sweetheart, I'm taking you on a date!” Despite the confidence in his delivery, Wade exuded a nervous energy, seeming to nearly bounce in place. 

Your eyes lit up. “A date? With you?” 

“Who else?” Wade tried to smile charmingly but it came out as more of a grimace. “Unless you… have a better offer. Like reanimated roadkill, or something.” Wade tugged on his tie as though to loosen it. 

“No, I… ” You trailed off, suddenly dubious about the whole thing. You hesitated before presenting your viciously scarred palms for his appraisal. “You're not bothered by them?”

The utterly unamused look Wade gave you in response was jarring. You lowered your hands uncertainty, overcome with the desire to hide them away.

“Do _my_ scars bother _you_?” Neither of you had brought up the scars you'd seen that night, and Wade wasn't particularly keen on bringing them up now, but… 

You looked startled. “But it's not the same.” You insisted. “You're strong, and brave, and _wonderful._ ” You praised him fiercely. “My scars are just a testament to how weak I am.”

“Oh _hell_ no.” Wade argued, hands gesticulating wildly at you, causing the bedraggled daisies to lose a few more petals. “You got those scars protecting your family. You wear them like a badge of honour.” 

You still didn't look convinced. “What if people stare?”

After a moment of consideration, Wade tugged his mask off, slowly revealing the scars he loathed. He fidgeted anxiously with his mask, wringing it between both hands.

“Then we'd better giv’em something to stare at.” He said with a tone of finality, face hard. 

You peered up at him in amazement. “You really wanna go on a date with me?” 

“I really, _really_ want to go on a date with you.” Wade corrected, offering you his collection of half-dead daisies. 

You accepted the flowers with a smile and stepped out onto the fire escape. “Let's go then.”


End file.
